


Perchance to Dream

by elephantsandbooks



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, this is a dumb hurt/comfort story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantsandbooks/pseuds/elephantsandbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Simmons find comfort with each other in the middle of the night and make it a regular thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

_She kicked her legs with the greatest amount of force she could muster, but, despite the effort, the surface of the ocean appeared to be getting farther and farther away. She had no idea how long she'd been swimming. It felt like hours. Her lungs were screaming for oxygen and her muscles grew wearier by the second. The exertion had exhausted her and she could feel her movements getting sluggish._

 _It was shocking, the clarity of his name amidst her panic and desire to succumb and accept her watery grave. She knew, she_ knew _that her best friend needed oxygen, and somehow through the bitter cold of the ocean she could feel the warm, salty tears flowing down her cheeks. Deep down she knew they weren't going to make it. Why couldn't she swim harder, faster? She was going to die._ Fitz _was going to die. Her legs pumped once, twice, three more times before it was all too much. Her lips parted and the water rushed into her lungs._

_At least drowning was supposed to be pleasant._

***

Jemma woke with a gasp. It was barely audible, as it always was. Her eyes had snapped wide open and the tears were already silently sliding down the sides of her face. 

It was one of the more frequent nightmares that crept up on her in the gaping darkness of night. Sometimes it was a little different, like she couldn't find Fitz after he pushed the button, or she'd reach the surface only to find that an impenetrable layer of glass covered it. The dreams almost made her wish for the old ones. The ones where she was falling from the plane with no end in sight, never quite losing the feeling of being on a vertical roller coaster. 

The aftermath of the nightmares was pretty consistent. Jemma would toss and turn for the rest of the night, never quite able to fall back asleep. Then she'd get up looking like a nightmare herself and she'd be generous with the concealer under her eyes and try to hide her yawns all day. 

Tonight would be different though. She was sick and tired of the awful routine. The first dozen times she'd experienced the nightmare, she'd gone and had some tea in the kitchen hoping it would soothe her frazzled nerves. No such luck. So she finally caved and decided to drug herself to sleep. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.

After a few minutes of letting her tears stream down her face and into her hair, she wiped her eyes and rolled out of bed and onto her feet, stumbling out of her cubby hole of a room. She allowed muscle memory to guide her to the Playground kitchen as quietly as possible, knowing that her teammates were ridiculously light sleepers. No. She didn't want anyone to see her in her current state of red eyes and a lost look. Everyone had enough to worry about as it was without her adding to the constantly-growing list. 

Stepping into the nearly pitch black kitchen, Jemma had only the lights of the stove and microwave to help her make out the blurry outline of the medicine cabinet where the team stored vitamins, cough syrup, aspirin, and the like. She was reaching out to it and thinking almost excitedly about the deep sleep she'd soon be in when a voice spoke in the utter silence of the base.

"Jemma?"

Her heart spasmed in her chest, she was certain of it. But her brain recognized the soft voice a split second before she could scream and wake everyone within a mile of the Playground. 

"Fitz?" she squeaked as she whipped around. 

And there he was. She could just barely see the outline of his body sitting at the kitchen table. She almost laughed as she thought about how disappointed May would have been with her for being so unobservant. 

"Yeah. Oh, hold on." He walked toward the doorway and a second later the light flickered on and they were both suddenly wincing and squinting. There was something so disconcerting about having bright lights on in the middle of the night when the rest of the nearby world was asleep. She assumed that was why neither of them had bothered turning them on before. 

Once their eyes adjusted, they were able to fully comprehend the awkwardness of the situation. Simmons had been back from the Hydra mission for months now and they'd barely spoken unless in a situation that forced them to. And now she saw him standing in the kitchen looking as tired as she felt with his scruffy face and black t-shirt and her heart ached for her best friend. They'd experienced ten years of friendship only to find themselves here, surrounded by uncomfortable silence. A year ago it would have been unfathomable. 

And yet...if the way they spoke the other's name at the same time was any indication, they were still somewhat in sync. The flushed cheeks and longing eyes certainly matched.

"I couldn't sleep," Jemma offered before they could talk over each other again. She wondered if her probably-still-red eyes old more than her mouth did.

Fitz averted his own eyes, conscious of his slight staring habit. "Same," he told her. "I was just― just drinking some tea. It helps. Sometimes." He gestured at the mug resting on the table.

Simmons nodded and couldn't help the sudden familiar burning sensation behind her eyes. Before her former partner could notice, she quickly nodded and turned back around to the medicine cabinet.

"Oh." It was a weak noise, melancholy and full of her suffering, and it pierced a certain boy right through his heart. 

God, how had it come to this? Ten years. A Decade of friendship, ruined by a heat of the moment confession.

Fitz stood completely still near the doorway, feeling as if any sudden movement might scare Jemma off like a skittish doe. Her back was to him as she shook out two pills from a plastic white bottle. He could only assume they were sleeping pills, his heart clenching a bit when he wondered if her problem was he same as his. In their friendship he'd been notorious for being capable of falling asleep anywhere and remaining that way through anything short of the apocalypse if he was tired enough. Now he was lucky to doze off by 4 AM most nights, and if he did he probably didn't stay that way. 

While popping the pills and downing a glass of water, Jemma braced herself and strengthened the dam holding back her tears. Seeing Fitz so soon after the nightmare that left her emotions raw and vulnerable was unnerving. She imagined she could still feel the weight of him pulling her back to the ocean floor.

Head down, she made her way past him and had just stepped into the darkness leading to her bunk when his voice reached out to her.

"Simmons?"

Her eyes squeezed shut and her body tensed from hearing him say her name again, and Fitz faltered when she paused her progress into the hall without making a move to face him. 

"I―um, that is...do you―would you like to stay for...tea?" His voice had trailed off toward the end when he realized what a bad idea he'd had. It was just that after spending so many years of making tea with her and then proceeding to also drink it with her, he'd been feeling strange not doing it anymore. Sometimes Lance or another teammate would drink it with him, but they generally preferred coffee to anything else and anyway it just didn't feel the same. 

Her back was still to him, but she'd turned her head just a bit to indicate that she was listening, so he forced himself to continue. 

"We don't have to― to talk or anything," he rushed to assure her. "But it does help. The tea, I mean, not...talking."

Jemma silently disagreed that tea helped (maybe for a bit a stress over a paper back at the Academy or a particularly hard assignment at Sci-ops, but not this), but the hopeful note in his voice and the hope that blossomed in her own chest pushed her to agree with a soft "sure" as she finally turned to face him. 

And so she found herself sitting across from him at the wooden table, warm mug dissolving the last remnant of the freezing water from her nightmare. The small kitchen was almost unbearably silent, and both occupants refused to make eye contact, but neither could honestly deny the slight comfort taken from the other's presence. If they tried hard enough, for a few seconds at a time it was possible to pretend that everything hadn't changed. Like maybe they were in one of their dorm rooms for a late night study session and had come to the part of the night when they lapsed into comfortable silence before eventually falling asleep.

But the inevitable mysterious Playground sound (a _clang_ here, a _bang_ there) would snap them out of it, a sharp reminder that this was a kitchen and not a dorm room and that they were Fitz and Simmons, not _FitzSimmons_. 

Yet...perhaps Fitz allowed himself an awed peek or two at the way Jemma's now-short ponytail had missed a few wisps. And perhaps Jemma was consciously fighting the deep sleep the pills threatened to drag her under because she didn't want to return to the loneliness of her bunk. And perhaps both Fitz and Simmons wondered if they would have another nighttime coincidence when Jemma finally left for her bunk with a small smile and a soft "thank you" that didn't sound so full of suffering. 

After waiting long enough to be sure that she was settled into her room, Fitz returned to his own and flopped on the bed, not bothering to slide under the sheets. His palm went to his upper-chest almost unconsciously. Yup. His heart was beating twice as fast as it normally did. He could hear her in his head explaining how it had something to do with his sympathetic nervous system (and he could hear the echo of himself explaining that he wasn't clueless in biology). He was having trouble believing that what had happened wasn't just a dream. If he'd had any of those lately, he probably would have pinched himself.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and dragged his hand down his face. Whatever that been, it was sort of...nice? Was that the right word? Weird, certainly. Either way, whatever he felt about the strange meeting, he wouldn't mind if it happened again. 

***

It was the next night and neither scientist could sleep. Not exactly new for either, but the reason was. They had only seen each other for a total of about five minutes that day, swamped with their own personal assignments. It was a huge decrease from the countless hours spent together Before. And maybe she was imagining it, but had the air around them felt more breathable, less tense, when they were in the same room together? Jemma was sure it had. Her stomach had felt light enough to float away like a cloud when she thought about the hesitant smile they'd shared after nearly bumping into each other after turning the same corner from opposite directions. It wasn't anywhere near as easy as it had been for almost 10 years Before Pod, but it was progress all the same. 

When they were in their bunks the night after, they were in sync despite everything. Fitz and Simmons wondered the same question in their separate bunks at almost the exact same moment: _Tonight?_

Last night had just been happenstance. They both found themselves awake in the middle of the night on a regular basis and both left their bunks at least once every few nights. Statistically speaking, it was bound to happen. But if it happened two nights in a row...neither agent could truthfully blame chance. 

Still. Fitz knew how Jemma thought and Jemma knew how Fitz thought (or at least she thought she had before the "you're more than that") and at 1:08 AM they were both thinking about getting up and going to the kitchen soon, hoping they were still just a bit psychically linked.

They were. So that was how Fitz ended up sitting at the Playground's kitchen table again, ears pricked and jiggling his left leg. He stared into his mug as if it was divulging the meaning of life, allowing only the swiftest of glances at the doorway.

It was also how Jemma Simmons found herself tiptoeing through the corridors and toward the kitchen for the second night in a row. Once she was just a couple feet from the doorway from which a warm glow light came, she paused. Fitz _had_ had the same idea as her, part of her cheered. Well. Unless someone else on the team was having trouble sleeping, which wouldn't have been surprising at all after everything... _Here goes nothing._

When she stepped into the kitchen this time, their eyes immediately connected for what felt like the longest second ever. Just as quickly, they looked away at anything but the other person in the room. The seconds dragged on and on while they scrambled for something, _anything_ , to say. They'd been so caught up in whether the other would even show that they had completely forgotten to wonder what in the world to say if they did. It was absolutely ridiculous. They had multiple PhDs between them, for Pete's sake! 

And of course they spoke simultaneously.  
"Would you like to―" "I see you're not―"

Nervous, shaky laughter. 

They waited expectantly for a few seconds and Fitz was _sure_ he heard a cricket chirp somewhere in the distance. Jemma finally rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it all, and the part of her that was really tired of not getting any sleep snapped. 

"I was just saying that I see you're not sitting in the dark this time, is all," she said looking directly at him, chin tilted upward just a little.

A quick smile flashed across his face and she wondered if she saw just a bit of pink bloom on his cheeks at her comment. 

"Yeah, that probably seemed strange...I―um―I turned it off after I made the tea. Don't like having such bright lights on at night unless I'm working." His tone was so bashful that Jemma could just barely restrain a visibly fond smile. 

After a beat of silence he gestured at the tea ingredients he'd left on the counter and offered "tea again, if you want."

She did want. Once she'd made it to her liking, after borrowing the still-unclaimed grumpy cat mug, she sat across from him at the table just as she had the night before. Neither spoke after that. Fourty-five minutes after nursing the increasingly cold drink in complete silence and with minimal eye contact, Jemma stood as quietly as possible, and, for some reason _whispered_ her "thank you" this time before dropping the mug off in the sink and leaving the kitchen. She spared one final glance at the light from the doorway before she turned the corner leading to her quarters. 

It was nearly a full minute before Fitz whispered back. 

"You're welcome."

***

Somehow when each scientist touched their head to their pillow that night, sleep found them both as quickly as it used to. No insomnia for Fitz, no nightmares for Simmons.

And thus was their pattern for the next week.

***

It was so strange. After over a week of silent middle-of-the-night rendezvous, neither of them was content anymore. On night 3 Fitz had brought some metal bits and pieces to tinker with, so Simmons had rushed back to her bunk to retrieve her tablet to do some reading. Fitz was startled when she walked in and immediately turned back around, but was immensely pleased to see her walk back in carrying something to occupy her. It would have made him self-conscious to have her across from him staring at his hands or something. So they tinkered and read in silence for the next few nights. But two nights ago a thought had popped into Fitz's head and he'd barely been able to keep it from spilling out and shattering the quiet. It had been so easy to forget the brokenness of their friendship for a few minutes. His desire to talk to her didn't compare with his desire to not scare her away.

Jemma craved conversation. She was dying for it. The first few nights she had enjoyed the silence because she was still getting used to being alone with her (former?) best friend for long periods of time again. But it was hard being around him when all she could think about was how easy it had come before, the talking over each other and sentence finishing. She hadn't had a truly mentally stimulating conversation in months. 

Things were even stranger when they saw each other in broad daylight.

"Fitz," she would acknowledge when she passed the garage where he worked with Mack.  
"Jemma," he would nod back, smiling just a little bit sometimes.

Skye began to eyeball the two, feeling as if something had shifted. It took her a couple days, but she eventually figured it out. The tenseness of their shoulders was almost gone. They looked more comfortable in each other's presence than they had in a long time. 

During a briefing she noted that they were next to each other and actually looking...at ease. Not so freaked out anymore. Her face was flat, but on the inside Skye was throwing a party. She nudged May and whispered, "Hey, are you seeing this?"

The older woman followed her gaze, gave an almost imperceptible nod, and refocused her attention on Coulson. 

***

They had met sixteen times (not that they were counting. Nu-uh. Nope, not them.) before the streak was broken. Fitz sat in the kitchen nibbling on a snack and practicing assembly with his bad hand for an hour after their usual meeting time before he figured Jemma just wasn't coming. _Asleep, probably_ , he thought. He wondered if her sleeping problem had gotten significantly better like his had since the meetings became regular. 

As he put away any evidence that he'd been there, he decided to check on her in her bunk. It was just to make sure that nothing was wrong, he tried to convince himself. He didn't want to admit that he really just enjoyed their meetings, lived for them in fact, at that point. 

When he arrived at her door he faced a dilemma. To knock, or just go away? She might have been getting some much needed sleep and he didn't want to ruin that for her. Going there had been a dumb idea. What is she just didn't want to be around him as much as he needed to be around her? It was that thought that made him turn back in the direction of his own room.

But at that moment there was a sniffle from behind the door, so quiet that Fitz wondered if he'd imagined it. Until he heard another. Either Jemma had a cold or...she was crying. He'd just seen her looking perfectly healthy a few hours ago which meant she was probably doing the latter. Before his brain could catch up with his muscles, he was knocking on the door. 

"Simmons?"

Nothing.

"Jemma? Are you― are you okay?" Of course she's not okay, you dunderhead, she's crying! 

There was another sniffle before he decided he couldn't just stand there any longer. He punched in the birthday of her dead cat into the keypad on her door, happy when he heard the familiar click signaling permission to enter. Some things never changed.

He noted that there was a plastic night light plugged into the outlet beside her bed and wondered if she'd developed a fear of the dark. She was curled up under her cover with her back to him, and every few seconds she would sniff again as if she was in desperate need of a handful of tissues. Unfortunately, he didn't see a box laying around anywhere. For nearly a minute Fitz just stood there and stared, wide-eyed and lost. He saw her burrow further into the covers and snapped out of it, striding over to the bed. He gingerly reached out and rested his palm on her should before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. Things were different. He didn't think he could just pull her into his arms like before no matter how much he wanted to. So he settled for rubbing her shoulder up and down as soothingly as possible.

The sensation of Fitz trying to comfort her made Jemma turn her face into the pillow and squeeze out the few tears left in her body. She had been about to leave to meet him when her eyes caught the picture that had been on her dresser since they'd moved onto the base. She'd set it there when Fitz was in his coma and hadn't really looked right at it since, though sometimes she suddenly became aware of it's presence and would force herself to push it away from the edge of her thoughts. 

It was a candid of her and Fitz right after their graduation from the Academy. In it they faced each other and she was laughing at whatever he'd just said, while he grinned at her and did that thing where he nervously scratched at his neck. 

She'd picked up the frame and stared at it, remembering the day as if it'd happened seven seconds ago instead of seven years. It wasn't until a tear plopped onto picture-Jemma's face that the real Jemma realized there were tears streaming down her own. Seeing the one tear opened the floodgates. The pressure that had been building for months was released and it felt so good to drop the brave face and it all out. She didn't just acknowledge the pain, she embraced it. She allowed herself to feel self-pity and lament over the events of the past months. She mourned the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Jemma from the photo who was so blissfully naive. So optimistic and excited to apply all her new knowledge, to save the world with her best friend right beside her. 

"Jem?"

She'd finally cried her eyes dry and was staring blankly at the wall. "Hm?" was all she could manage in that state. She felt curiously empty inside. Numb, really.

"Do you...do you want to talk about it?" Part of him hoped she didn't, whatever 'it' was. He wasn't sure how they could even begin to talk about everything that had happened, what they'd become. The notion terrified him. 

When her arm slowly crept out from under the cover, Fitz was surprised to see that she'd been clutching something. With only the light of her night light, it took him a moment to realize what it was. A picture frame.The photograph was all too familiar. He had an identical hidden away somewhere in the mess of his own room unless it had gotten lost in the move from Bus to Playground. He examined it and thought about the day it had been taken. Happiness was practically radiating from the picture. He tried to recapture how he'd felt the moment it was taken. Light. Unstoppable. Complete. It was agonizing comparing the girl and boy in the picture to the man and woman on the bed. 

"I remember this," he remarked quietly. He thought he saw her nod. 

It was weird feeling as if he couldn't comfort her anymore, didn't know how to. But part of him thought that maybe she just felt the same thing he did: the desire for the other's presence. They didn't have to talk things out right at that second. Right then they just needed to support each other, even if only for one night.

Fitz noticed that Jemma's hand hadn't retreated under the cover yet, so before he could lose his nerve, he took it in his own. Still holding it, he slid down to the floor and shifted until he found the most comfortable position he could while leaning against the bed and not letting go of her. It was incredibly awkward and apparently Jemma knew it, because after a minute she let go and turned to face him. They didn't look at each other, but intuitively knew to settle in to sleep. The pair didn't let go or wake up once through the night..

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly not happy with how this turned out, but I wrote it so I may as well post.


End file.
